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was getting antsy. ‘Right now.’
    If he hadn’t started jerking me out of the room, I would have agreed. For all we knew, Casimir’s killer was in the neighbouring apartment, waiting to pick us off, one by one, as we made our exit. For all we knew, Bridget and Gladys and George were already dead.
    But I hate the way people assume that I’m brainless, just because I look like a kid. I hate the way they keep pushing me around.
    ‘And where are we supposed to go, exactly?’ I demanded, shaking off Dave’s hand. ‘What if there
is
an address book? What if this slayer knows where to find us?’ The full import of our situation hit me, then; it was like copping a bucket of water full in the face. ‘Christ!’ I spluttered. ‘What about my
mum?
’
    There was no immediate response. Even the priest was stumped; he stood dazed with shock and lost for words, exactly like the rest of us. I was thinking:
How can this be true? How can this have happened?
It didn’t seem real.
    Finally, however, Horace began to use his head.
    ‘This guy is a slayer,’ he reasoned, in a halting and tentative sort of way. ‘If – if he used a stake, he must know his vampirelore. Which means he probably thinks that a crucifix will kill us.’ When Horace discerned no spark of comprehension in the eyes of his audience, he added impatiently, ‘We should go to St Agatha’s. He won’t be looking for us there. Vampires aren’t meant to hang out in churches.’
    ‘You’re right.’ I suddenly realised that we would have to start putting ourselves in the killer’s shoes. ‘Horace is right. We should go to St Agatha’s.’
    ‘But what about …?’ Father Ramon didn’t finish his sentence. He simply gestured at Casimir – or what was left of Casimir.
    ‘That can wait,’ said Dave. He didn’t, however, inject enough urgency into his reply, which was pitched too low and phrased without emphasis. (Dave always talks as if he’s ever so slightly stoned.) As a result, the priest remained unconvinced.
    ‘What if somebody notices the damage to the lock?’ he fretted. ‘What if they investigate?’
    ‘Can’t be helped,’ I said. And seeing him frown, I began to panic. ‘We can’t stay here, Father! Suppose the killer comes back? He might be watching this flat
right now!
’
    I don’t know whether it was my argument that persuaded him or my very obvious state of extreme distress, but Father Ramon needed no more urging. He followed Horace out of the room, which was instantly engulfed in darkness. Even so, I could just make out Sanford’s huddled shape. He was crouched beside the coffin, spreading Casimir’s ashes around. Something had snagged his attention.
    ‘Come on!’ I implored. ‘We have to go, Sanford!’
    ‘Wait. Give me one minute.’
    ‘What are you
doing?
’
    ‘Look.’ He thrust his open palm under my nose. But the light was too dim for me to see much, except a faint glint of metal. ‘Ithink it’s a bullet,’ he said. ‘It might even be a silver bullet. We shouldn’t leave this.’
    ‘Then bring it!’ I was already halfway out the door. ‘Bring whatever you want, only do it now! Quick! Because
we have to get out of here!
’
    Don’t ever believe that vampires are fearless. On the contrary. What happened to Casimir could happen to any vampire, at any time.
    When the whole world hates you, fear becomes your friend.

4
    We weren’t killed on our way to St Agatha’s. There were no sinister figures lurking near Casimir’s apartment block; nor were we followed by any mysterious, dark-coloured cars. During the entire trip, we didn’t encounter so much as a red traffic light. And when we reached the vestry, we were able to examine Sanford’s chilling discovery without fear of interruption.
    It was a silver bullet, all right. A nine-millimetre solid silver bullet.
    ‘See? What did I tell you?’ said Horace. ‘This slayer’s misinformed. He thinks a silver bullet is going to do more damage than a lead one.